


watch myself, watch myself watching you

by cosetties



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, SKAM Secret Santa, b/c that's my jam y'all, mostly fluff let's be real, the working title for this is frat daddy isak and that's all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 22:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13222788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosetties/pseuds/cosetties
Summary: Isak is unfairly attractive, is in a frat, and Even would like God to make heterosexuality a sin.





	watch myself, watch myself watching you

**Author's Note:**

> this is a skam secret santa fic for [vero](http://lovedeven.tumblr.com/)! i remember you saying that you have a soft spot for au's, and an anon had told me to write about even thinking chick magnet isak was straight, and this fic was born. i really hope you like it!!!
> 
> (disclaimer: this is very very american. also i don't really know how frats work, or else this au would've gone for very very long. but i go to a big southern school and also watched a lot of greek, so there you go.) 
> 
> title from seventeen by kevin abstract.

Here’s the thing: Even’s always been trash for a good narrative. He’s never exactly been excited to trip over his own feet down an entire flight of stairs before, but when his fall lands him right in the arms of Isak Valtersen, who’s made far more guest appearances in his sketchbook than he’d like to admit, he’s ready to write an ode to his own clumsiness. His first thought is _muscles,_ his second is –

“Did you cut your hair?” Even says, and it sounds closer to a shriek than he’d like to admit. Isak’s curls have been a staple in his sketchbook more often than he’d like to admit. He’s admittedly only come within reach of them a couple of times – times he’ll cherish until the day he dies – and it’s all he could do to keep his hands planted firmly at his sides. There’s a time and a place for him to reveal how extra he truly is, but there’s also a time and place when he’d be weird as fuck, and he’s at least aware of himself enough to know where that line is. But those curls were truly something else.

Which brings him back to the current tragedy.

Isak self-consciously pats his new buzz cut. “You don’t like it?” he says, his voice small.

Even’s quick to shake his head. Isak doesn’t deserve to feel anything less than perfect, ever. “No, I mean – It’s just different.”

“Different bad?”

“Different like…you look kind of badass.”

Isak snorts. “What did I look like before?”

 _Angelic. Beautiful. Possibly the love of my life._ “…Less badass?”

“You really have a way with words.”

“I’d say it’s one of my best talents.”

It’s only then that Even realizes that Isak’s arms are still wrapped around his waist. Judging by the way Isak suddenly stiffens, he’d come to that conclusion too. With regret, Even slowly removes himself from the circle of Isak’s arms, and – maybe he’s just imagining it – but he can feel Isak’s fingers lingering a second too long.

Better not think about that, though. It would only drive him nuts. The truth is, past a few mutual friends, they don’t have that much in common. If it weren’t for Jonas forcing his friend groups to merge because he was too goddamn lazy to hang out with them individually, they would probably never have met. Chances are, Even doesn’t even register on Isak’s radar.

Even quickly grabs Isak’s textbooks from the ground, careful not to let his disappointment show. “I liked your hair before, but it looks good, really,” he says truthfully. He may not look like the Isak that Even’s been crushing on for the past month, but he’s still _Isak._ Even’s too far gone to let something as mundane as a haircut deter him, not when it really does make Isak’s cheekbones stand out more, not when it goes so well with the muscles peeking out from under his shirt. Jonas has complained unrelentingly about some pact Isak had made to start lifting shit that’s heavier than beer cans, but Even’s not complaining at all. He really, really isn’t.

Isak rolls his eyes. “I just lost some stupid bet with this guy in my frat.”

Even squints at him. “You’re in a frat?”

“Are you surprised?”

Even’s floundering. “You just don’t look like…”

“A complete asshole?” Isak cuts in, laughing. He’s blushing a little, and Even thinks it’s the most adorable thing. “Thanks. Nice to know you think so highly of me. But you know that’s where Jonas and I met, right?”

“ _Jonas_ is a frat boy?”

“He prefers fraternity man _– “_

“No,” Even gasps.

Isak shakes his head. “I’m sorry I have to break the news to you, man.” His voice drops. “And his rants about multinational corporations sucking the life out of local businesses? I happen to know he’s a hoe for a good Starbucks pumpkin spice latte. He also owns a pair of those really gross salmon-colored shorts. He’s a fraud.”

“Can’t you trust anyone to be a good anarcho-communist these days?” Even says.

They stare at each other for a second, and Even only lasts another second before he breaks out laughing. He’s rewarded by Isak’s returning grin.

“Don’t blame Jonas. At least for the frat. The guys are actually pretty chill, and he was seduced by the weed.”

“As one should be,” Even says, very seriously.

“You can still blame him for the pumpkin spice lattes, though.”

“Are you besmirching the name of the PSL?”

Isak looks mildly horrified. “Don’t go there.”

“If you’ve never had a good pumpkin spice latte, you’re doing it wrong.”

Before Even can suggest that doing it right would involve Even, preferably while they’re on a date, with Even halfway to declaring his love in the middle of a fucking Starbucks, Jonas calls Isak’s name from down the hall.

“Fuck,” Isak says under his breath. “I promised I’d help him with a Biology assignment. I swear he can shit talk neoliberalism in his sleep, but he somehow can’t remember the goddamn steps to DNA replication. Sorry.”

Even shrugs, but the casualness is forced. The truth is, he could’ve stood in that tiny stairwell for the rest of his life, if it meant getting Isak to himself. “Tell him hi for me. Also that we can’t be friends anymore, because everything about him is a lie.”

The corner of Isak’s mouth quirks upward. “He’ll be heartbroken.”

Even shrugs. “He still has you.”

“Dude, he thinks you’re, like, the coolest thing since Che Guevara. I’d think he has a thing for you, except – “

Jonas calls Isak’s name again, more insistently this time. Isak winces. “I really have to go, but you should, uh, come to one of our parties sometime. We have one on Friday.”

Isak must sense Even’s hesitation. “It’s not what you’re imagining, I promise. No wild hookups. No questionable punch. No weird racist shit. It’s really lowkey.”

And who is Even to deny Isak anything when he’s blinking those green eyes at him?

“I had plans to camp out at Starbucks and pay my respects to the pumpkin spice latte, but I guess I could squeeze you in.”

Isak laughs. “I appreciate it.”

Isak’s eyes are practically twinkling, and just when Even’s about to just go for it and ask Isak out, ever so casually, Jonas jogs up to them and claps Isak on the back.

“What’s taking you so long?” Jonas asks. He notices Even then, and to Even’s surprise, breaks into laughter. “I fucking should’ve known,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Shut up,” Isak hisses. 

“Did Isak invite you to the party on Friday?” Jonas says all too gleefully. It’s weird. Jonas usually toggles between chill and chiller. The glare Isak shoots at him is even weirder.

“Yes?” Even says cautiously.

“Good. It’s gonna be great,” Jonas all but cackles.

* * *

Here’s the next thing: this narrative didn’t include Isak being annoyingly, unattainably, horrifically, heterosexual. It’s straight-up homophobic is what it is. At least that’s what he keeps repeating to Mikael where they’re folded together on the tiny couch in the living room. There’d been a time when Even would’ve been the life of the party – it’s the kind of natural charm that the guys always hated when they found Even two hours later, entrancing a circle of admirers with a story about yet another stupid escapade only he could make sound cool.

That was before Isak Valtersen decided to break his heart.  

Isak and Jonas had conveniently neglected to mention the beach theme. Even’s still wearing his coat – which gives him just the right amount of hipster aloofness, thank you very much – but his failsafe pretension doesn’t do him much good when the girl Isak’s talking to has her boobs practically shoved in his face. Even can’t look away from the hand he has placed on her arm. She stands on her toes to whisper something in his ear, and Isak breaks into laughter. It’s impossible over the music, but Even swears he can hear that sound across the room, like Isak is a beacon of longing pulling him ever closer. Even his rubber duck shorts are adorable. They’d look better off him, granted, but Even’s never going to look at a rubber duck the same way again.

“It’s a good thing you want to be a director. I’m never letting you get close to a script,” Mikael says, which is when Even figures out he’s been deep in monologue for the past 15 minutes.  

The only appropriate response is to take another swig of the weirdly good punch. Embarrassment and alcohol are inversely proportional, after all. He knows math.

Mikael stops him before he can bring the cup to his lips, and he lets out a whine. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

Somewhere, logically, he knows Mikael’s right. He stares down at the cup in his hands. “I think we may be soulmates,” he says dejectedly.

Mikael ruffles Even’s hair. “This is why we don’t let you drink.”

The girl’s trying to pull Isak somewhere more private now, but Isak’s standing his ground. At least he has the good grace not to shatter Even’s heart completely.

“Did you know I fell into his arms today?”

“You fell into his arms,” Mikael deadpans.

“Yes,” Even says, nodding seriously. “I fell down the stairs, and he grabbed me.”

“Grabbed you,” Mikael says slowly. “Explain to me in what world that’s appealing.”

Even’s face scrunches up. “Not like _that._ More of a caress, I guess. His hands were really soft.” He sighs loudly. “I should’ve known the moment he told me he was in a frat.”

It’s not even the frat thing. He should’ve suspected it from the moment they’d met at the first Queer Students Association meeting of the year. Even had been drawn to him immediately, and he'd had to employ some hardcore nonverbal manipulation to get Vilde to pair them together for their icebreaker. But Isak had only stammered out that he’d come to support Magnus, with no mention of himself. But Even did always have a way with falling too hard, too fast.   

Mikael rolls his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that’s a grossly untrue stereotype. I dated that Sig Ep for a bit, remember?”

“Wasn’t he also an emotionally manipulative asshole who was a little too obsessed with Adam Sandler movies? Click, specicially?”

Mikael grimaces. There’d been a lot of lost sleep over that one. “Doesn’t disprove my point.” Mikael waves in Isak’s general direction. “Besides that doesn’t mean anything. He could be bi or pan or anything else.”

Across the room, the girl has lost her shirt completely, and her arms are wrapped so tight around Isak he could be suffocating. A (horrible, vindictive) part of Even almost wishes he would, so Even could jump to the rescue. But Isak just keeps on smiling that gap-toothed smile of his, and the image of them together makes Even’s chest feel tight. “Doesn’t mean he’s any more interested in me,” he says finally.

“Didn’t he invite you here in the first place?” Mikael says.  

Even glares at him. There’s a time and place to get his hopes up, but now, all Even wants to do is wallow in self-pity and drown himself at the bottom of this red Solo cup. Let a boy grieve in peace. “That doesn’t mean anything. He was just being nice, or trying to prove that frat life isn’t as weird as everyone thinks.”

Mikael looks out the window, where no less than ten guys are crammed inside the tiny kiddie pool in freezing weather. Magnus – who Even’s met once or twice through Jonas – is trying to balance a beach ball on his head, but the ball refuses to cooperate. There seems to be a very animated game of duck duck goose in the other corner of the backyard, if duck duck goose involved a liberal amount of whipped cream and an actual flock of ducks, whose honking adds a nice harmony to the Drake playing.  

“If that was his goal, this party wasn’t the place to prove it,” Mikael says drily. “Have you tried talking to him? Does he know you’re here at all?”

This makes Even pause. “No,” he says carefully, “but it’s been thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes too long,” Mikael agrees.

He turns over, smushing his entire face into the arm of the chair. “Besides, I think he’s a little too busy to notice that I’m here right now.”

Mikael hesitates for a second, then pats the back of Even’s head awkwardly. “There are lots of fish in the sea. Get it, fish? Because this is beach – “

Even may be out of it, but not too out of it to refrain from elbowing Mikael in the stomach. Mikael huffs out an indignant laugh, but doesn’t protest. He knows he deserved that one.

After another minute, Even muses, “I think God should make heterosexuality a sin. Why isn’t it already a sin?”

“Hey now, straight people are good for some things. Look at Adam. He’s straight, and he’s still…doing things.”

Even blinks at him owlishly. To Mikael’s credit, he lasts a whole minute before bursting out into laughter. “Fine. Point taken.”

Suddenly, Even can’t take it anymore. Isak’s out there on the dance floor hooking up with a beautiful girl, and he’s still lying here on this moldy couch, pining the night away. There’s no guarantee that the couch is even _clean,_ and now that he’s slowly snapping out of his funk, the questionable stains on the seat are all too apparent. He doesn’t know what frat boys get up to in their free time, but he doesn’t have to experience the side effects.

He jumps from the couch, wobbling on his feet a little. Mikael reaches out to help, but he swats his hands away. “I can take care of myself. I’m just tipsy, not drunk.”

“I have fifteen minutes of you waxing poetic about Isak Valtersen to disprove that.”

Honestly, Even would’ve done the same sober, but Mikael doesn’t need to know that. “We can leave,” he declares, “but I’m stealing a beer first. As payback for all the heterosexuality we had to put up with.”

Mikael nods seriously. “That’s only fair.”

Even can’t avoid the mass of bodies as he retraces his steps to the kitchen. It’s surprisingly far removed from the rest of the festivities – perks of paying dues to a giant fucking house, he figures. He’s still mumbling to himself about the sheer audacity of brunette girls in bright pink bikinis when he finds himself walking down a dark flight of stairs for absolutely no reason at all.

He blames it on the drunkenness at first, but when he finds Isak on the other side of the basement door, he’s a little convinced it’s fate.

“This isn’t the kitchen,” Even says, and immediately winces at how stupid that sounds. Isak is hunched over on the couch, face in his hands. At the sound of Even’s voice, he slowly, jerkily raises his head. In the fluorescent light, the dark circles under his eyes stand out more sharply, and he doesn’t look at all like the chick magnet from the party.

When he notices Even, a soft smile spreads across his lips. At that moment, it’s easy to forget that Isak isn’t the least bit interested in him. Even if this is all he can have, he wouldn’t give up that smile for anything.

“I’ve a feeling we’re not in the kitchen anymore,” Isak agrees. He shifts over on the couch, and Even takes that as an invitation to join him. When Isak doesn’t protest, Even lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Why are you down here? Weren’t you up there?”

“I have legs, Even. They move sometimes,” Isak snaps. He sighs, burying his head in his hands again. He lets out a harsh breath through his fingers. “Sorry, I just had to get away from everything for a sec.”

Even slowly inches back, leaving space between them. “Do you want me to leave? Because – “

“I didn’t mean get away from _you.”_ As Even’s eyes widen, Isak stiffens, and he curls into himself even more.

Even doesn’t know what to do, what to say, really. The man of his dreams is sitting in front of him, hurt and lost, and he can’t even make him smile. He’s never felt so wholly inadequate in his life.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Even says, hesitantly. He winces. He’s heard that exact same line often enough – from his parents, from his therapists, from people who won’t ever get it _,_ no matter how they try. His brain is his own unique shit show, and it’s easier to pretend no one cares. Then maybe he could care a little less too.

Isak shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

The problem is, Even so desperately wants to.

But right now, that’s not what Isak needs. Not someone dissecting him down to his problems. Not someone trying to fix him. Even can be that guy.

He nudges Isak’s shoulder with his own. “Hey, remember when you promised me no questionable punch?”

Isak’s mouth quirks upward so minutely that Even almost misses it. “I’ll have you know this is an upgrade for us. Be grateful you didn’t have to drink punch out of a trash can.”

“People really did that?”

“It’s a frat, man.”

“Wait, really? It all makes sense now,” Even says. At that, Isak cracks a real smile.

Now that his heartbeat is slowing down, Even can take stock of the room. It’s filled with old furniture and games – a futon that someone had punched a hole through, a slip-and-slide that’s collecting dust, a pin the hammer and sickle on the comrade poster with Jonas front-and-center. The only item that looks like it’s been used in the past year is the ping-pong table taking up most of the free space in the midst of the clutter.

Isak must see the direction of his gaze, because he says, very calmly, “This is where we make the pledges play drunk ping-pong to the death. Whoever loses chugs everyone else’s vomit. Then we sacrifice his soul to the ghosts of brothers past.”

Even chokes. “Really?”

Isak snorts. “You watch too many movies. I promise only normal ping-ponging goes on here.”

“Then why not let anyone down here?”

“Last time Magnus got drunk, he thought he’d make a better ping-pong ball than an actual ping-pong ball. He broke the table, and we had to buy a new one. Moral of the story: Magnus doesn’t ping _or_ pong, and we keep Magnus away from anything he can destroy when he’s drunk.”

“Does that include his dignity?”

Isak grins. “We decided that was unsalvageable.”

Even stretches out his arms, leans back against the sofa. The music from upstairs is only a soft thud, barely noticeably over the sound of his own pounding heart. It’s too quiet suddenly, and Even hands Isak what’s left of his beer just for a distraction. “You want?”

Isak takes a tentative sniff, but makes a face that Even can’t help but find totally adorable. “What the fuck did you put in this?”

“Mikael mixed it a little bit of vodka?”

“Why?”

“Wasn’t working fast enough.”

“You must be trying to forget something real hard, dude,” Isak says. Even winces when he remembers the girl Isak had been dancing with upstairs. He doesn’t know the half of it.

He’s concentrating on downing the rest of his drink in one gulp when a ping-pong ball suddenly lands in his lap. He blinks at it for a second, and it distracts him long enough for Isak to hit him with another ball that lands smack in the middle of his forehead, and another.

“What are you doing?”

“Ping-pong,” Isak says, as if it’s the most obvious thing. He only manages to keep a straight face for a second, before he gives in to his widening grin. That look makes Even’s heart grow so large it feels too full for his chest, and he wonders if Isak can tell. He’s never been good at keeping his feelings on lock. That he’s held back on professing his undying love is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.   

Even takes a ping-pong ball but only throws it back half-heartedly. “I hate to break it to you, but this is not ping-pong.”

“Who made you the gatekeeper of ping-pong? I happen to be the master of ping-pong,” Isak says.

Even has to keep his lips pressed together, hard, to keep himself from grinning like a loon. He holds up a paddle. “Okay, hotshot, if you’re the master, let’s play a game. Loser has to do whatever the winner wants.”

Isak raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Nothing gross or embarrassing.”

“I have a feeling our definitions of embarrassing are vastly different.”

Even gasps dramatically. “What are you trying to imply, Isak?”

Isak is unimpressed. “Weren’t you the one who programmed the projector to start playing the Bee Movie right in the middle of commencement last year?”

Even smiles wistfully. “My top five greatest hits for sure. But point taken, nothing embarrassing by your standards.” Even waves the paddle again. “What do you have to lose? I’m so drunk right now I can’t even aim.”

Isak eyes Even’s paddle suspiciously, but ends up nodding.

It only takes a minute into the first match before Isak regrets that decision.

“What the hell, dude? I thought you were supposed to be drunk,” Isak groans as he fails to return Even’s serve for the third time in a row.

Even winks. “I am drunk. But alcohol doesn’t do anything to a master of ping-pong.”

“You tricked me. We were both supposed to be shitty at this.”

Even shrugs. “I sucked at every other sport when I was a kid, so ping-pong stuck for a while. Minimal movement, little bodily contact – “

Isak finally manages to get a serve to land on Even’s side of the net, but Even returns it with ease. Isak curses when the ball flies just out of his reach, and his arms pinwheel so hard he lands right on his ass. Even would be worried if Isak wasn’t vibrating with laughter too. “I’m an idiot,” he chuckles.

Even thinks Isak is anything but, and if it were true, if Isak were really an idiot, Even would be an even bigger idiot for loving it.  

It only takes twenty more minutes before Isak waves his paddle in surrender. “I quit. I always thought this was a stupid game anyway.” He throws his paddle down on the couch, and, with a roll of his eyes, asks, “What do you want?”

Even pulls out the joint he’s been saving all night. Isak looks between the joint and Even warily, like he’s waiting for a punchline. “That’s it?” he says.  “You didn’t have to win anything to get me to smoke with you.”

Even smirks. “You said anything I want. This is what I want.” As he watches a smile overtake Isak’s face, he’s struck again by how true that is.

Isak slowly takes the joint. “If you insist on sharing your weed with me, I guess I’ll have to say yes.”

“Must be such a hardship,” Even says as Isak struggles to light the joint. His fingers are still clumsy from the alcohol, and after a full minute of cursing, Even’s finally had enough. He gently wraps his fingers around Isak’s to guide him. The lighter sparks up immediately, but the warmth of Isak’s touch lingers long after Even’s pulled away.

Isak takes a long drag, and Even is unable to tear his eyes away from Isak’s face – the way his mouth falls slack, the way his eyes flutter shut. “That shit’s good,” is the verdict when Isak finally breathes out the smoke. “We can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Someone’s going to find us, and I’m not ready to share you yet.”

Even’s heart stutters. “Share me?”

Isak coughs. “Share the weed, I mean,” he says.

Even sighs. He nods jerkily. “Right.”

“Let’s go up to my room?” Isak asks him, and Even’s not proud to say that his brain short-circuits a bit. Going from playful drunkenness with Isak, then getting high, then going up to his _room, where he sleeps,_ all in the course of one night, may be too much for Even to take. He might actually die from how badly he wants Isak.

Of course he says yes.

Isak’s answering beam is almost enough to make up for Even’s impending doom.

* * *

 

Isak’s room is exactly what Even had expected from him, but Even can’t help but find every piece of Isak endlessly fascinating. There’s a pile of laundry on the floor, a stash of chips on his overflowing desk, and a half-eaten sandwich Isak hastily shoves under his bed. Even’s not exactly a neat freak, but messes tend to stress him out. But here, he can’t help but smile. This circle of chaos is all Isak.

“I should’ve warned you about my room. Sorry, haven’t had time to clean.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, as he keeps looking around.

Isak doesn’t have much on the walls. A couple of memes, a picture of some friends, a photo of a model. Even lingers on that one the longest, and Isak blushes when he sees the direction of Even’s gaze.

“She’s, uh, hot,” Even finally says, and the disappointment is sour on his tongue.

“Yeah she is,” Isak agrees, but he sounds a little flat.

Even suddenly needs the weed more than ever. “So are we going to smoke or what?” he says, and he’s ashamed that it comes out more harshly than he’d intended.

If Isak notices, he doesn’t let it show. “I can’t say no to that.”

They end up sprawled out on Isak’s bed, elbows brushing as they pass the joint back and forth. It’s probably just Even’s imagination, a byproduct of the weed, but the air between them crackles with electricity so tangible that it threatens to shock him if he moves too fast, if he does anything to threaten this fragile thing between them. But every time Isak hands him back the joint, he’s hit with a desperate urge to press closer. He’s all too aware of the warm body beside him. He’s too of aware of Isak’s rocket ship sheets. He’s too aware of all of it.

His eyes land on the model, and he swallows hard.

“You’re tense,” Isak says, on the next pass of the joint.

“I have a lot of assignments coming up.”

“That’s not fun. You’re not allowed to be no fun.”

Even raises an eyebrow. “Because you said so?”

“Yeah, and this is my room, so whatever I say goes.”

“Okay, since you’re obviously the expert at absolutely everything, can you tell me how to be more fun?”

It takes Isak a second to respond. “Tell me about that short film you’re making with Mikael.”

“You know about that?”

Isak snorts. “You asked Jonas to help.”

And Even should’ve expected that one, really. “What do you want to know about it?”

The film is just a short sequence of a couple falling in love while stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, much more minimalistic than the rest of Even’s work, which Mikael had once complained reeked of delusions of grandeur. Even likes the grandeur. He loves the kind of epic love stories accompanied by dramatic movie scores, the kind that rip your heart out of your chest. But when one of his actors had contracted pneumonia after he’d asked her to jump in a pool for art, he decided to scale back. He’s still in the last editing stages, but he’s proud. Sometimes, the most epic love stories can be found in the most mundane of places.

“Why do it?” Isak says softly. “How did you know that movies are what you’re meant to do?”

Even’s breathing slows down to match Isak’s, and for a moment, that’s the only sound in the room. Finally, he says, “I guess I thought, if I want my life to matter, I should put some good into the world. And movies the purest form of goodness I know.”

“I don’t think I’ve loved anything as much as you love them.”

Isak’s voice is soft, barely audible, and Even realizes immediately that he’s been granted a privilege. He turns on his side to see Isak better, propping his head up on his hand. Isak still stares resolutely at the ceiling. “That can’t be true,” Even says.

Isak shakes his head. “I’ve always been afraid I’d never find anything I was passionate about. Like, like I’m not _made_ to love things, or – “

Even makes a strangled sound in his throat. “No.”

“Even,” Isak says, a little exasperated, “we’re high, you’re obligated to listen to me whine here.”

“Only when it’s justified. What were you doing last weekend?”

Isak face scrunches up in confusion. “I was volunteering at the museum?”

“Jonas told me you were helping with elementary school tours of the space exhibit.”

This makes Isak turn to face Even too. “So?”

“You wouldn’t have helped out with that if you didn’t genuinely love it.”

“I hate kids.”

“I’m talking about _space._ The first time I saw you at a party, you talked my ear off about wormholes for a good thirty minutes. I don’t think you even remember.”

Isak’s responding blush is enough for Even to know he hadn’t. “You don’t get it. The science thing isn’t really a passion. It’s just the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?”

Isak pauses for a minute, biting his bottom lip. “You really think so?”

“You’re capable of so much more than you think.”

Before Even can comprehend what’s going on, Isak’s lips are pressed to his, hopeful, searching. Isak’s lips are as soft as he’d always imagined, and his stomach flutters with giddiness. Isak’s careful not to make it dirty, but the unasked question in his touch makes Even want to cry.

Even’s still struggling through the mechanics of kissing back when Isak suddenly jerks away. His eyes are frantic as he says, “Shit, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Disappointment curdles in Even’s gut, impossible to ignore. He can’t look at Isak, and fuck, are those tears prickling at his eyes? “It’s okay, we’re high, and I get it, you’re straight – “

Isak lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m not straight.”

Even whips his head around to stare straight at Isak, looking for some sign that this is a joke. Isak doesn’t flinch. “Are you serious?”

“Would a straight guy flirt with you all night?”

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “And you think I’m oblivious. I’m, uh, gay.”

Even’s brain is too slow to catch up. “But you were dancing with that girl upstairs, and there’s a picture of Megan Fox on your wall, from like, the _Transformers_ era of all things, and I’m not even going to get into that. You’re also in a frat.”

Isak blushes. “You’ve heard about how gay pledging can get, right? Ever think that there was a reason for that?” He swallows. “And I didn’t say I was comfortably gay.”

Even strokes Isak’s cheekbones, traces the contours of his face. God, he’s so fascinated by this boy. “That’s okay. That is totally okay. Sexuality is totally an at-your-own-pace kinda thing.”

At that, Isak starts to smile again. Isak can probably hear Even’s heart beating through his ribs, but he thinks he doesn’t mind. He’s not hiding anything anymore.  

Isak places his hand on Even’s cheek. “I mean, don’t tell anyone, but I actually like Madonna. My old flatmate got me into her. That’s pretty gay, right?”

Isak’s touch on him only makes Even stupider, but he manages to nod.

“I have a crush on Chris Evans. Must be the tights.”

Even nods again. “Also very gay.”

“I have a crush on you,” Isak says quietly.

This time, it’s Even who closes the distance between their lips. If Even thought their first kiss rocked his world, their second one is even better. There’s nothing between them now, no misunderstandings or drama. Even only has a second to lament the loss of Isak’s hair before he realizes he has a nicely-shaped head, and Even likes clutching it just as much.

When they finally part for air, Isak says, “You’re staying?”

Even grins so wide his face threatens to split in half. “If you want me to.”

Isak starts kissing him all over again, and Even melts when he rubs their noses together.

“The guys are never gonna let me live this down,” Isak says, but he doesn’t look like he cares all that much. “When you meet them tomorrow, can you tell them I swept you off your feet instead of, like, whatever awkward shit I tried to do?”

Even brushes his thumb down Isak’s jaw. “You did sweep me off my feet.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Gross,” he says, but his answering kiss is debatably grosser.

When Isak pulls back, Even asks, “You want me to meet your brothers tomorrow?”

“Yeah? I mean, if you want to.”

“I want to,” he says, and his heart soars at the thought of it – Isak letting him meet his friends, letting him into his life like this is something that’s built to last. Even desperately wants it to.

Isak seems to get it. “I’m not letting you leave now that I actually have you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am on tumblr as [bechnaesun](http://bechnaesun.tumblr.com/)!


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